FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

Louche: A Shady, Sketchy, and Suspicious Encounter at the Airport

Beautiful, innocent Italy, where seemingly nothing could go wrong. Do you ever let down your guard when traveling to charming places? Read about our iffy airport transfer after midnight in today's update...

Stay connected with me on Instagram or Facebook or LinkedIn. It’s a great way to keep in touch, especially when this blog takes a break or faces technical hiccups. I’d hate to lose contact with you!

TODAY'S WORD: LOUCHE

 : suspicious, shady, sketchy

PRONUNCIATION: [loosh]

EXAMPLE SENTENCE
Cette situation est vraiment louche, pensais-je en suivant le conducteur dans l'obscurité.
(This situation is really shady, I thought as I followed the driver into the darkness.)

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Jean-Marc and I had been looking forward to celebrating our 30th anniversary for months. This belated trip to Italy, with its promise of rest, renewal, et de bons repas, seemed like the perfect way to mark the occasion. But as we landed in Bari just past midnight, the excitement was quickly replaced by a chill in the air and an unsettling obscurité.

It was cold and dark as we stood at the airport taxi stand among a crowd of travelers. Just like with the French, there was no rhyme or reason to the queue. After a few moments, Jean-Marc cleared his throat and asked the couple next to us, “Have you been waiting long?”

Just as we began to question the apparent lack of taxis, a man stepped out from the shadows and approached us. Something about him seemed louche, his voice low and measured as he asked, “Need a ride?”

“How much will it cost?” Jean-Marc ventured. And just like that, we, along with the other couple, followed the stranger. The young woman ahead of me carried a backpack. I followed, carting my valise, while our partners trailed behind. We continued to the end of the sidewalk, beyond the airport’s railway station. As we got further and further from the terminal, I turned to whisper to the young man, “This is kind of strange, isn’t it?” He merely shrugged. With no Uber service available in Bari, what other choice did we have for getting to the town center after midnight?

When we arrived at the rental car lot, I felt a moment of relief. Surely, one of those official cars must be ours. Hélas, our driver quickly bypassed the rentals, heading instead toward a chain-link fence and out of the airport grounds, casting frequent glances over his shoulder to ensure we were following.

The young woman slowed her steps. “Look, this is... I don’t...” she began.

“I don’t like this either!” I hissed to Jean-Marc, my nerves prickling.

“It’s around the corner,” the driver piped in, urging us forward. Incredibly, we followed, like sheep heading to an uncertain fate. If I went along, it was because I trusted my husband. But that didn’t mean he always made the safest decisions… Years ago, during a hike along the rocky seaside he suggested a shortcut along the train tracks through a narrow tunnel. This dark path we were on now felt just as chilling. When would the ominous “train” appear and crush us?

The silence of the night, the scraping, churning wheels of our suitcases became the soundtrack to a Hitchcock scene.  The so-called driver appeared nervous. My mind reeled when he suddenly spoke. “Where are you going?”

Yes, that was my question!

“The Boston Hotel,” Jean-Marc answered before the stranger could read my thoughts.

“Uh, we're going to an Airbnb,” the young man replied.

A fleeting, guilty thought crossed my mind: I hoped we would be dropped off first. I didn’t want to be The Last Stop. The Terminus. The Terminated…

C’est chelou! This is bizarre! Just where was this “cab”? After what seemed like a mile, we turned into a dark alley. There it was: a battered station wagon the French refer to as un break—as in a prison break. There was no taxi dome light on the roof, no company logo on the doors, no meter inside—not even a GPS. And there was virtually no room for all our suitcases. Something screamed SKETCHY. 

Before we could ask questions, the stranger hoisted the young woman’s suitcase onto one of the seats. “OK, ok. Let’s go.” I quickly got in, picking up the suitcase and placing it on my lap.

“I'm not doing this!” the young woman declared, grabbing her luggage. I watched as what might be our only witnesses in this kidnapping took off.

Quit overreacting! Sheesh. You've watched too many scary episodes of Dateline. I tried to brush off my fears. But still, the thought did cross my mind—what if this wasn’t quite as it seemed? What if we were about to be trafficked? Then again, I couldn’t imagine us being the prime targets. I mean, who would go through the trouble of kidnapping a couple of middle-aged tourists? 

Thinking about it now, it seems strange that Jean-Marc got into the front seat. Perhaps he felt more in control? As the car disappeared into the night, I fumbled for my phone, needing to turn the data back on to verify we were on our way to the Boston Hotel and not to some barren field on the outskirts of the city.

Come on, come on! I tried to locate the data button. Settings... Cellular... Roaming… There! I  typed in “Boston Hotel,” and the blue line appeared like a lifeline. Slightly relieved, I remained on guard. Just because the driver began chatting about tourist attractions didn’t mean he wasn’t planning something sinister.

From the backseat, I studied his profile. You might say he was good-looking, in a Ted Bundy kind of way—pas vilain ce vilain. But you can’t judge a book by its cover. I sank deeper into my projected horror story as the two men in front talked like tomorrow was certain. Would it be?

“What are your plans?” the driver asked. Jean-Marc mentioned we would be heading back to the airport to pick up our rental car, to which the driver casually replied, “Will you need a ride?”

There was a pause. My husband wasn’t seriously considering that, was he?

Bright city lights came into view. We were only a few kilometers away. And then… the driver missed the turn-off. Qu’est-ce qui se passe? My pulse quickened, but at the next corner, we were back on track. Finally, there it was—the brightly lit Boston Hotel sign. What a funny name for a hotel in Southern Italy. Nevermind! It might as well have been an American flag or the Statue of Liberty. I let out a long, shaky sigh, as if being repatriated from a battlezone, a war in my mind.

As we handed over our passports to the hotel clerk, Jean-Marc glanced at me with an amused smile that said, Tu vois. Tout s’est bien passé. I managed a laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief.

As for our driver, he no longer looked like a criminal in my mind, but a father or son or brother—a family man working a graveyard shift to make ends meet. While this was probably closer to the truth, it doesn’t mean I’ll ever step into an unmarked cab again, in a foreign city, after dark. 

We went on to enjoy 5 days in Italy, inlcuding the town of Trani.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Soundfile: Click to hear Jean-Marc pronounce the French terms below

louche = shady, suspicious
de = some
bon= good
le repas = meal(s)
l'obscurité = darkness
la queue = line
la valise = suitcase
hélas = alas
chelou = bizarre, shady 
le break = station wagon
pas vilain ce vilain = not bad for a bad guy
qu’est-ce qui se passe = what is happening
Tu vois = you see
Tout s’est bien passé = everything went well

Chelou is a fun example of verlan, a type of French slang that plays with syllables by reversing them. The word louche (shady or suspicious) becomes chelou when flipped, giving it a modern, informal twist. Verlan is popular in casual conversation, especially among younger speakers.

The French term break for station wagons comes from the 19th-century English "brake," a large carriage used for breaking in horses or hunting. The French adapted the term for cars with a similar shape and capacity, designed to carry luggage or equipment.

COMMENTS
Thank you for your messages and corrections, which are much appreciated! Click here to leave a comment.

In Ostuni, Italy

REMERCIEMENTS/THANKS
Mille mercis to readers sending in a blog donation for the first time, and to my returning patrons listed below. Your support keeps the wheels of this digital journal turning, and I am truly grateful!

John J.
Dana I.
Mary R.
Phoebe E.
Jolanta C.
Warren W.
Virginia G.
Michelle M.

Merci, Kristi, for all your warm & thoughtful glimpses of life in France. —Virginia 

Thank you for your lovely stories and photos of your life in France. I have enjoyed your website for many years. Merci beaucoup! —Mary

Over the years I have really enjoyed your blog…I feel I am back in France. Thank you for the memories. —Michelle

Love your column, blog and books. I am sort of "on and off", just read your last post. Photos are truly captivating...always! Appreciate dearly your work. —Jolanta

Near the Castellana Grotte

 

A memorable moment from Jean-Marc's recent tour in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, revisiting the beautiful Château Maucoil. We were warmly welcomed by the gracious owner, Bernard (second from left), and his son. From left to right: Robin, Bernard, me, Paula, Jean-Marc, Steve, and Antonia. A heartfelt thank you to this wonderful group from Tucson, Arizona, for joining us on our Provence Wine Tour!

Closing this edition with one more photo from Italy, perfectly in tune with our anniversary theme. "You’re always celebrating your anniversary," my daughter teased recently. Well, there’s a reason! We were married twice in 1994—first in the Town Hall in July and then in the church in September (we meant to have our second honeymoon then, but postponed it to November.)

To leave a comment, click here.

Postcard from Brittany

Agapanthus flowers on the Island of Bréhat.

POSTCARD FROM BRITTANY

When we received an invitation for un mariage in Brittany, Jean-Marc planned a romantic escapade around this joyous event. We only had three days to vacation together, not counting travel time, but it was enough to mark the occasion of our 30th wedding anniversary. After careful research, my former fiancé put together an itinerary including two nights on the island of Bréhat, lunch above the beach in Saint-Sieuc (back on the mainland), and a half-day in the fortified town of St. Malo.

This ambitious périple surrounding his godson’s wedding filled me with doubts, especially after my husband announced we were limited to one carry-on suitcase. Given we were leaving the heatwave in La Ciotat for the rainy north coast—to tromp around a muddy island before heading to a formal affair—packing would be a challenge.

Sacrificing my hairdryer and clothes steamer, I packed two permapress robes, a satin jupe and chemise, two pairs of heels, a raincoat…. (I won’t bore you with the rest), and stepped onto our Volotea flight wearing white jeans and a cream-colored blazer that would hopefully go with all three dressy outfits. Wearing half my party attire, I felt somewhat stiffer than usual, especially for a full day of travel, but how else to keep a portion of my wardrobe pressed for the wedding?

As for my no-fuss Frenchman, he carried a lightweight cotton tote (compliments of our local pharmacy), and somehow managed to fit all his needs inside—with room to spare for my umbrella! The bright yellow floral print on his bag was an amusing contrast against his rugged exterior.

The drive to the airport, the plane ride, the rental car, and la vedette, went smoothly. However, when we stepped off the ferry boat late that afternoon to find a tractor waiting for us, any embarrassment I felt being the only tourist in white was overcome by panic. How to keep these party clothes clean if we were going to ride that muddy thing? This being a car-free island, it was ride the tractor or pédaler!

Soon enough another tractor arrived towing a tiny train behind it. Ouf! Boarding one of the train cars, we enjoyed a scenic tour of the island from the embarcadère to our friend’s house, on a bluff above the English channel, where we would séjour for two nights. Arriving at the little stone cottage, the view during high tide was breathtaking as the sun began to set on the orange horizon.

By morning, three little boats in the cove were temporarily stranded among the seagrass and rocks, making for another charming view from the large rock where we would drink our morning coffee and enjoy the evening apéro both nights. After a breakfast of pain au chocolat and café crème in Le Bourg, a ten-minute walk from our cottage, Jean-Marc suggested we set out to discover le phare du Paon on the northernmost part of the island. But I suddenly felt lazy on learning the distance. It was only four kilometers there and back, but we also had plans to walk to the southernmost end of the island by noon. As I stood there waffling over what to do, the following words tumbled out: “Je te suis!”

I’ll follow you! This new mantra would be my ticket to overcoming indecision, hesitation, and always wanting (if not having) my way. With Jean-Marc in the lead, I was free to photograph the hortensias and the hollyhocks (Bréhat Island is classified as the flower island), the neat stone houses made of local rock, the island dogs, the bikes, the beaches, and coves at high tide and low.

We passed fields with cows, rocky beaches, and curious stone structures. During the peaceful marche, Jean-Marc admitted that one thing he loves about these little islands off the coast of Brittany is the feeling of insularity, or safety. Passing an unmanned stand brimming with produce and confitures, I understood what he meant. The little stand was packed with homemade jams, vibrant produce and there was even fresh-baked bread. A sign read: “Petit Marché. Servez-vous et laissez les sous dans la caisse s'il vous plaît.” Serve yourself and leave the money in the cash box.

“This would not go over well in Marseille,” I giggled, to which Jean-Marc added, “No, they would take the goods and steal the cash!”

When Jean-Marc suggested lunch on the south coast, I resisted the urge to protest and instead said, “Je te suis!” I'm so glad I did. We discovered the island’s only sandy beach, La Plage du Guerzido, with an inviting terrace shaded by a parasol pine. Imagine that! Un pin parasol! We marveled at the exotic flora—jasmine, lavender, fig trees, and even pink tamaris from the desert—all thriving on this enchanting archipelago.

For our last evening, we enjoyed more local huitres, baked brandade de morue, and toasted to our full (and only) day on L'île de Bréhat, hoping to come back and rent a house and bring the family. (The only risk being rain! We were lucky for our sunny day, but rain is de rigueur on this little island along the English Channel. In that case, my family from Seattle would be right at home!)

The next morning we had café and croissants at Hotel Bellevue on the port before boarding la vedette back to the mainland. With time dwindling we hurried to the beach in Lancieux for lunch, before heading to our rental to clean up. Only, there were no sheets or towels in our apartment! (It's not uncommon in France to have to bring your own linens.) Undeterred, we used our t-shirts to dry after showering, and made it to the ancient église in time to see Julia and Baptiste walk down the aisle. I had to split my Kleenex in two when Jean-Marc’s eyes began watering, too! Did he also feel that quiver in his heart? There is something so tender, so innocent, so trusting about two souls uniting pour le meilleur et pour le pire, jusqu'à la mort vous sépare!

Next, we raced back to our résidence hôtelière to put sheets on our bed (Jean-Marc located a janitor who tossed him a duffel bag of bleached linens) and change for the dressy evening reception. Everything had gone incredibly smoothly up till now, so when I saw my horrible chipped toenail polish, pas de panique! I simply let it go. (I would not trade all that walking and sightseeing around the island for a perfect manicure!)

Back at the reception in a picturesque hameau, we joined the bride, groom, and over a hundred invités for a night of dining, dancing, and toasting to une vie à deux. I missed my chance to offer any guidance to the young couple, but now, in retrospect, I suppose one piece of advice I could give would be to incorporate this golden phrase, adopted on this romantic getaway: “Je te suis!” I will follow you! (And then to take turns saying it to each other throughout your marriage.)

Back on the airplane, buckled in and heading home, I am amazed at how smoothly our four-day race to Brittany went. Like the shores of Bréhat, where the tide comes in and goes out, so do our fears, doubts, needs, wants, and moods. We just have to keep our eyes on the horizon, remembering that every little thing will work itself out. As I sit next to Jean-Marc, I reflect on how this trip, with its minor challenges and beautiful moments, has reinforced our bond. “Je te suis, chéri,” I whisper, knowing that these words mean more than just a willingness to follow. They represent trust, love, and a lifelong partnership. No matter where life takes us, I pray we will navigate it together, sometimes leading, sometimes following, but always side by side.

***

At the church in Saint-Lunaire, the bride and groom are cheered with a fleet of bubbles instead of rice.

Jean-Marc watches his newly-wed filleul, or godson, and bride as the groom's parents give a speech at the evening reception.

Picture taken at the wedding reception we attended on Friday night. I don't know if this is a cultural note, but at many events these days you will find a photo box where guests can ham it up and bring the photo souvenir home. Are you familiar with these?

The property where we stayed while visiting Bréhat. This is our friend's cottage, and we stayed in the second cottage located in the spot where I am taking this picture.

The charm of bicycles gliding past...

COMMENTS
Your comments are enjoyed and your corrections are appreciated. Click here to leave a message.

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to the following readers who recently sent in a blog donation. This truly is a reader-supported journal and I appreciate your help in publishing it week after week. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Ann B.
Jill F.
Jo B-R
Mary K.
John C.
Nancy C.
Marion J.
Colleen M.
Michelle M.
Jeanine WW

Merci Kristi pour tous les histoires merveilleuses. Elles font ma journée. —Nancy C.

Merci for your sharing your heartfelt journey with all of your readers! —Michelle M.

I appreciate and enjoy the engaging and beautiful writing of Kristin Espinasse. Kristi is both a wonderful story-teller and photographer. Thank you for your vivid glimpses of French family life. Merci, Kristi! —Marion J.

We thought this was our ride! (Jean-Marc and our luggage, including his only tote. I like how the yellow flowers match his shorts :-)

Finally, we spotted the tractor train coming up the long embarcadère, with its three cales (or docks). Depending on the tide, the boat will arrive at one of the 3 cales. The farthest is a 10 minute walk to the port.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: click here to listen to the French and English terms below

le mariage = a wedding
le périple = journey
la jupe = skirt
la chemise = shirt
la vedette = the ferry
l'embarcadère = the dock
le séjour = stay
le phare du Paon = the Paon lighthouse
la marche = a walk
les hortensias = hydrangeas
le pain au chocolat = chocolate croissant
le café crème = coffee with cream (or rather milk)
le pin parasol = umbrella pine
l'hortensia = hydrangea
la lavande = lavender
les huitres = oysters
la brandade de morue = cod brandade
la vedette = ferry
l'église = church
une résidence hôtelière = a hotel residence
une vie à deux = a life together
un hameau = a hamlet
un invité = a guest
pour le meilleur et pour le pire = for better or for worse
jusqu'à la mort vous sépare = until death do us part
pas de panique = no panic
Je te suis = I will follow you
chéri = dear

La plage de Guerzido

Window on Bréhat Island


A palm tree on Brehat Island, along the English channel...

Earlier I mentioned only one sand beach, clearly there are more!

In St. Malo, a fortified town where we had lunch and a stroll.

Il devait en être ainsi: Meant to be (predestined) in French: A Chance Encounter with some Ceyrestens

The sign reads "change of ownership". Today's story takes place in a town nearby: Ceyreste. FYI: The inhabitants are called "Ceyrestens" for men and "Ceyrestennes" for women.

Are you an expat in France (or anywhere outside the US) and need to file your taxes?
Good news: you have an automatic extension through June 17. I am using Expatfile again this year to complete mine quickly and easily, and highly recommend it. Click here.

TODAY'S WORD(S): Il devait en être ainsi

    : meant to be (predestined)

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristin Espinasse

While French greeting cards are interesting and exotic for family back home, I wanted to celebrate my nephew Payne’s college graduation in plain English and was delighted to find a clever card on Amazon France. But, when I received an email informing me I was absent for the delivery and would have to drive to the next town to retrieve my paper-thin parcel (the card would’ve easily fit in my mailbox), that delight turned to dégout. “But we were home all day!” I grumbled to my dog, Ricci. “I’ll bet the driver took the easy route, dropping it with a lot of other packages at the nearest (for him) dépôt!”

While I had a mind to report the rogue livreur, intuition whispered to go with the flow of what Life (if not the driver) had successfully delivered: an opportunity to put my current soucis on hold and get out for some fresh air and flânerie.  At the very least, it would be the chance to practice my driving, which is rusty after all these years of being a passenger.

The Mistral wind in full force, our compact Renault Zoe swayed back and forth along the road to Ceyreste but I made it safely to the village and even found parking. What a pleasure to see the vintage Tabac sign near the church square had not been taken down, and ditto for a few other old businesses including Boucherie Jacky. I would have liked to explore more but the wind was sending my hair flying in every direction and I just wanted to get my nephew’s card and go home to my warm bed for une sieste with my dog.

I don’t know what it’s like chez vous, but in France packages that cannot be delivered to a home address are rerouted to a point relais. It’s a good way to discover and support a variety of local commerces, who go to the trouble of handling the parcels. I once collected a dog leash at a cannabis shop and une couette at a former garage turned optical. For my nephew’s carte de vœux the packet has ended up at a primeur of all places.

The green grocer’s was easy to find, I could see the colorful produce a block away. Entering the shop, there was a customer before me so I mosied on over to the root vegetables and selected a bunch of carrots (for a fresh jus de carotte for Jules every morning to help her eyes). While filling my basket I overheard the shopkeeper talking to the older gentleman:

“I’m afraid we don’t carry fougasse here, Jean-Pierre,” she said gently. “You might try the baker.”

Monsieur looked confused. After a long pause he asked for du lait.

“Sorry, Jean-Pierre. No milk here. We sell fruits and vegetables.” With that, the shopkeeper shot a conspiratorial wink my way. “But I can offer you a coffee. The machine’s in the back.”

“Do you have sugar?” came the hopeful response.

“No, I don’t have sugar….”

Monsieur looked over at me as if I might be able to produce a few cubes from thin air. “It’s not bad without sugar,” I smiled. “C’est mieux pour la santé.”

“Vous savez, j’ai travaillé dans le nucléaire.” You know, I worked in the nuclear industry, Monsieur offered, out of the blue.

I gathered he meant What does sugar matter when you’ve worked around radiation? but he was only reminiscing. “I lived in Avignon…and Qatar…and Algeria….(He mentioned a few other cities but I lost track, focusing instead on his innocent eyes, the color of la noisette he would now be drinking if only there was milk in this fruits and vegetables-only shop.

“What was your favorite place?” I set down my basket to listen closely.

“L’Algérie. Oui, L’Algérie...”

“I hear it is beautiful there,” I said.

As the venerable Ceyresten struggled to convey the beauty of North Africa to his captive audience of two, I experienced that rare sensation of time standing still. In that moment, there was no rush, no rigid routine, and no pressure to produce (though there was plenty of produce, green and leafy, surrounding us). When he finished speaking, I reached over and placed my hand on Monsieur’s shoulder, without stopping to think about cultural norms or boundaries.

“That’s lovely. Thank you, Jean-Pierre. Did your sister send you out for anything else?” The shopkeeper smiled, jogging Monsieur’s memory.

“Perhaps,” he said, thinking about it. During the pause, the shopkeeper gestured towards me and I handed over a basket full of carrots. “Oh, I have something to pick up as well. I don’t know why a little greeting card I ordered was delivered here,” I shared. 

The shopkeeper sympathized, “Maybe it was meant to be.”

Driving home I thought about the errant postman, who wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Now, looking at the bigger picture, I see his role as some kind of cosmic carrier, rerouting my own, and a few others' paths that day...and also the role of the tiny parcel, in altering our schedules and so tinkering with Father Time. Perhaps that is peace: when the clock stops ticking and the heart opens up to the moment at hand.

***

I can’t end this update without sharing the message on my nephew’s graduation card: (First, picture a dachshund wearing a party hat): “Well done you clever sausage!” the card reads. Today, this message also applies to my Mom, for her cheery, positive, and grateful attitude while being poked and prodded at Hôpital Européen in Marseille on Tuesday. As we keep Jules in our thoughts and prayers, her French health insurance is set to expire this week. We eagerly await its renewal, crucial for her upcoming 4-day hospital stay and a battery of tests aimed at uncovering the cause of her inflammation.

COMMENTS
To leave a comment or a correction click here. Merci!

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File Click here to listen to the French pronunciation

le changement de propriétaire = change of ownership
Il devait en être ainsi = it was meant to be
le dégout = strong disappointment 
le dépôt = drop-off site
le livreur, la livreuse = delivery man, delivery woman
le souci = worry
la flânerie = stroll, ramble
la sieste = siesta, nap
le point relais = parcel pickup location
la couette = duvet, comforter
la carte de voeux = greetings card
le jus de carotte = carrot juice
la fougasse = the French equivalent of focaccia bread
le lait = milk
une noisette = “a hazelnut” means a shot of coffee with milk in a very small cup
C’est mieux pour la santé = It's healthier
j'ai travaillé dans le nucléaire = I worked in nuclear

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to readers for sending in a donation in support of my French word journal. Your support makes a difference!

Alan M.
Lucie A.
Merle J.
Esther D.
Susan B.
Robin C.
Alison S.
C-Marie P.
Patricia L.

Thank you for your exceptional content, care and creativity. --Alison S.
Kristin , Thank you for your continued journey to share your life with readers. It is a rare treasure. --Esther D.
Merci beaucoup, Kristi, dune autre américaine d'Arizona (Tucson). --Robin C.

Calin: A Hug in French, Family Reunions and My Break in the States

Some friendly characters encountered back in the Southwest, USA.

BLOSSOMING IN PROVENCE BOOK REVIEW by PERFECTLY PROVENCE
"The book’s chapters weave through the realities of being a mother, wife, and daughter living in an adopted country with different rules, cultural norms and language nuances." Read Carolyne Kauser-Abbott's review of Blossoming in Provence.

TODAY'S FRENCH WORD: Un câlin

    : a hug

Rien ne vaut le sentiment d'être avec sa famille--et un câlin.
Nothing is worth the feeling of being with one's family--and a hug.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Salut! Ça va? My two-week congé is over and I am home now in France--back to the murmur of French, to the scent of the Mediterranean Sea, to bright yellow mimosa and extended family. Sunday's cousinade, or gathering with the cousins near Aix-en-Provence was a joyous occasion even if I am still queasy with le décalage horaire. Surely jetlag was responsible for the confusion when my aunt-in-law, Annie, said I could set down the dirty dishes dans le potager. Now for me, potager means "vegetable garden," but who am I to question the authority of une véritable countrywoman?

Balancing a stack of dessert plates I was headed to the garden when doubt stopped me in my tracks. This time I consulted Cousin Sabine…
"Dit, Annie tells me the dirty dishes go in the potager???"

"Ah," Sabine laughed, "Maman is referring to le comptoir! We call that le potager. Voilà dear reader, an old-fashioned term for you the next time you're referring to the kitchen counter!

I spent a lot of time at the kitchen counter--er, le potager--back in the States, where my daughter Jackie and I had the chance to spend time with our American family. This short and sweet réunion de famille began with a brief stop in Denver, where my sister Heidi nurtured us back from desynchronosis or time zone syndrome. While filling up on everything from homemade tacos to spaghetti and meatballs, I savored time with my nephew and niece, Payne and Reagan, who came home from college CU Boulder for a visit before Jackie and I ubered back to the airport, direction Californie. I was headed to the desert on a very specific mission: to hug my dad.

From cousinade to "calinade"
While family back home often reassure me the phone is marvelous technology, rien ne vaut une bonne câlinade--nothing compares to holding your loved ones close. So, after, several calins back in Colorado, it was time to hug a few more family members. My little sister, Kelley flew in from Washington State, followed by Heidi, and we spent 4 memorable days in Palm Springs with Dad and belle-mère Marsha, enjoying lots of time at le potager, chatting at the kitchen counter, and lots and lots of hugs! But the best was seeing Dad looking so fit, healthy, and happy, grâce à son épouse, Marsha, who is also a doting hostess to us girls. And it was great to finally enjoy our "coffee with Kristi" as Dad calls our father-daughter chats, in the same room instead of on different continents, technology permitting.

Over breakfast of fruit and Raisin Bran, I watched Dad toss blueberries directly from the carton into his bowl. "Dad, don’t you wash the pesticides off those berries?" My father smiled: “I think the body does a good job sorting these things out.  I'm not worried.” I like Dad's relaxed attitude and realize all the stress of keeping my food clean is more harmful than a handful of unwashed berries. It's these bits of no-nonsense wisdom—and Dad’s endearing presence I miss so much...and the fact I can’t see the blueberries--those little things he does daily that speak of his philosophie de vie. So I soak in as much together time as possible and make a vow with my sisters to visit more often.

While chasing each other in golf carts, accompanying Dad and Jasper to the dog Park, or gathering around the potager/comptoir…we all seized the chance to laugh, shed a few tears, and encourage each other. All of these are important for an expatrié, for anyone living an ocean apart from loved ones. Yes, the telephone is a marvelous invention (and Whatsapp and FaceTime, too) but those warm hugs are vital. Rien ne vaut un bon câlin!

COMMENTS - To read the comments or to leave one, click here. Thank you for taking the time to respond to my story.

Heidi, Me, Kelley, Dad, Marsha, and Jackie.

A sister sleepover, with Heidi (center) and Kelley (right)

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

First study the French terms below, then click here to listen to them

salut = hi
ça va = how are you?
la cousinade = reunion of cousins
le décalage horaire = time difference, jet lag
le potager = kitchen garden, kitchen counter (in old Provençal)
dit = tell me
la réunion de famille = family reunion
la câlinade = a made up word for hug fest
le câlin = hug
la belle-mère = stepmother (can also mean mother-in-law)
la Californie = California
grâce à son épouse = thanks to his wife
la philosophie de vie = life philosophy 
rien ne vaut = nothing equals 

REMERCIEMENTS/ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
With much appreciation for your donations to my French word journal. Merci beaucoup! 

Odile G.
Dan St G.
Sherry P.
Bill and Mary
Martha and Charles M.

Thanks again for your blog and amazing photos. Odile

I look forward to reading your stories and looking at the beautiful photos, and appreciate the time and care that you put into trying to make everything just right. Be of good courage! Peace and all good, Sherry

Love the blog and stories of life. It's also a good media for Martha & I to keep up with you folks. Thanks again for all the good reads. Charlie and Martha

RELATED POSTS
Don't miss the story about my belle-mère, Marsha.
And a favorite memory "Joie de Vivre" about Dad's visit to La Ciotat

In addition to seeing my family, the scent of the desert and its familiar landscape brought me back to my roots. This year marks 30 years since I said "I do" and permanently moved to France from the Arizona Desert.

Thanksgiving Vocabulary + Périple: Jean-Marc's Journey from France to New Zealand & Bike Tour

Jean-Marc and Ricci at Port des Capucins. "I'm going to take her with me to New Zealand!" he teases. Read about my husband's 2024 périple in today's update.

Joyeuse Action de Grâce!
I can't guarantee that's how you say "Happy Thanksgiving" in French. But I hope you have so much to be thankful for and that your lives are brimming with blessings in any language. In addition to the blessings of my Franco-American family, friends, health, and our new dog, I'm grateful to have overcome my fear of making pumpkin pie...

La Tarte à la Citrouille
For a scrumptious tarte à la citrouille I roasted and puréed some farm-fresh potimarron, for 500 grams of pumpkin, mixed it in the blender with du lait concentré sucré (1 cup), 3/4 cup of sour cream, 2 eggs, 1 tsp cinnamon, 1/2 muscade, a pinch of salt and baked it for 40 minutes at 200C (392F was a bit hot!) in a ready-made pastry--une pâte brisée. It turned out delicious! A refaire! Don't miss the photos at the end of this edition but, first, enjoy Jean-Marc's nouvelles, just below.

TODAY'S WORD: le périple

    : trek, expedition, journey, long haul


NEW ZEALAND PERIPLE VIA BICYCLE by Jean-Marc Espinasse

Dear Kristi's Readers,

As my New Zealand trip is getting, day after day, more realistic, I would like to thank all of you who have already offered to help me during my 3 months stay in this fabulous country.

Three months... Actually, in 3 months, I will be right in the middle of the bike ride I have just put together. With my long-time friend from Marseille, Bernard, we will start in Greymouth on the West Coast to end in Christchurch. After much hesitation over whether to bring our own bikes from France, we decided to buy some electric hybrid bikes in Christchurch with an extra battery and plan to ride from 40 to 80 miles per day. We will follow the West Coast South bordered by the Alps and in Haast, we will get inland, pass by Wanaka Lake where one of the best NZ wines is, so I will definitely stop there to behold the spectacular vineyard slopes and enjoy the delicious biodynamic wines of Rippon.

Copyright-free image via Google

The first leg of our trip will eventually end up in Queenstown where we will stay for 3 days to rest after 350 miles in 6 days and to explore the beauty of this city on the Waikapu lake surrounded by magnificent mountains.

The second leg of our bike tour will start by riding through the beautiful vineyards of Gibbston Valley before heading North, inland, to reach, 3 days later, the beauties of Pukaki Lake and Mount Cook

Copyright-free image via Google

It will then be time to head back northeast to reach the Banks Peninsula where we hope to see dolphins and other beautiful landscapes before returning to Christchurch at the end of February to complete this 900-mile trip.

After a needed rest, I will say au revoir to Bernard and travel North and join the Blenheim area where my job at Whitehaven Cellars starts March 4th. I found a very nice cottage located 7 miles away from my work so I will continue to enjoy my bike for commuting back and forth for another 7 weeks.

When I am done with this exciting period, I plan to explore the North Island. I am not sure if I will use my bike or rent a camper (or both) for that, those plans are still up in the air. 

What is certain is that I am going to have a wonderful time in this country that has always fascinated me.

Any suggestions, help, or contacts during my different "périples" will always be welcome at [email protected]

Happy Thanksgiving.

Love and Peace,
Jean-Marc

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click to listen to the French and English terms
le périple = trek, journey
Joyeuse Action de Grâce = Happy Thanksgiving
la tarte à la citrouille = pumpkin pie
le potimarron = red kuri squash
le lait concentré sucré = condensed milk with sugar
la noix de muscade = nutmeg
à refaire = to do again
une cuisse de dinde = turkey leg

We celebrated Thanksgiving a day early to accommodate friends leaving town. Thanks, Sandra Zirah, for this photo of Jean-Marc and me cooking green beans and une cuisse de dinde over my mother-in-law's chestnut and girolle stuffing. Present at table were Sandra and Patrick, our son Max and Ana, and (vicariously) Mom (she enjoyed her plate of turkey back in her studio. She has a little cold and did not wish to share it with our travelers.).

REMERCIEMENTS 
Sincere thanks to readers sending in a blog donation for the first time and to my returning patrons listed below. Your support keeps me going, and I am truly grateful!

Debbie L.
Richard L.

Love reading each week. Look forward to our next trip to France. —Richard 


So excited to have finally made pumpkin pie. In case it didn't turn out (and it did!) I also made chocolate chip cookies.

Joyeuse Action de Grâce! photo of me and Ricci by Sandra Zirah

COMMENTS
To comment on today's post, click here. Your edits are always appreciated, too! Merci beaucoup!

La Fringale: At what hour do the French get the munchies?

The word in the window spells "Eat" which is what my stomach cried on the train back from Paris. Don't miss today's story with some fun new words.

News: Carolyne Kauser-Abbot has written an excellent article about Jean-Marc’s wine tours. Check it out at Carolyne’s site Perfectly Provence

TODAY’S WORD: "LA FRINGALE"

    : munchies
    : craving, hunger

avoir la fringale = to have the munchies, to feel peckish

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

On the train back from Paris I had the urge to tchatche with the stranger sitting next to me. Graced with corkscrew curls and a spray of freckles across her nose, she had smiled pleasantly when she took her seat beside the window. Now, quietly settled in for our 3.5-hour voyage to Marseilles, I wanted to exclaim, "Quel soulagement d'être monté dans le train ! What a relief to be on the train!” which is what I felt after lugging my piggybacked parcels and suitcase through the metro, up into the Gare de Lyon, only to struggle through the crowd in Hall 1. But I kept quiet when a little voice said, your own reality isn’t necessarily hers.

It’s a pity when your inner dictator keeps you from connecting with others, via its own self-righteous reasoning, and so I reconsidered striking up a conversation. But as the minutes passed my opening line became passé as the train was well on its way.

AVOIR LA FRINGALE
By now my stomach was rumbling alongside my thoughts. I kept thinking about the doggy bag in the large paper sack at my feet. Inside were gourmet leftovers from last night’s farewell dinner with a dear friend at Café de L'Alma. “Take it home, Rouge-Bleu," Susan had encouraged. You’ll enjoy it later! And so I piggybacked that doggy bag, along with several treats from our hotel, on top of my suitcase, which also held my heavy carry-on. All that juggling during the walk from the hotel to the metro to the train had created quite an appetite--especially after missing lunch.

I was suddenly craving that homemade gnocchi with pears and grapes, in cream sauce. I even had a plastic spoon in which to eat it and my seat included a handy fold-out tray. There was just one problem….Culture: the French don’t seem to eat at odd hours, and 3 pm is an odd hour to dine.

According to whom? Who says 3 pm is an odd hour to eat last night’s plat principal? I recognized the still small voice, that championing ally that always comes through if I listen to it, and not the inner critic. But soon a little battle ensued.... as my thoughts contradicted each other, tour à tour:

Why not wait until 4 pm? 4 pm is l’heure de goûter in France—a perfectly respectable time to munch in public.

But the French eat sugary snacks for goûter hour, that other voice pointed out.

Just then I heard the crinkling of a wrapper and turned to see the elegant woman across the aisle enjoying a candy bar. Next, Mademoiselle Freckles broke out a muffin, confirming my suspicions that the 4 pm snack hour is for sweets only.

Go ahead. Dig in! My inner ally cheered. Go against the status quo! Be wild! Be free! Be unique! Just when I had the courage to break all the imagined rules, I noticed the passenger seated 5 rows up, in the forward-facing seat. His T-shirt read, "BE NORMAL."

Be normal? But I was just about to let loose and BE WILD!

Harrumph! Now I had to build back le cran all over again, and it would've been all uphill except for one final thought: If I don't eat now I'm going to return home in a very cranky mood. And I didn't want to be irritable around my family. I knew Mom was waiting excitedly to see me, along with Jean-Marc and our newest family member, Ricci. And so, with the noblest of intentions, I broke out my spoon and dug in! No matter how many times my eyes darted around the train car, between furtive bites, I never saw one shocked expression. No one paid the slightest bit of attention. To my relief, there was not so much as a “bon appétit” something strangers are quick to tell anyone who is eating anything ever. (Maybe the French only say that during normal dining hours? There must be a separate set of rules for off hours?)

"Is it true the French tend to eat only sweet things at l'heure de gouter?" I asked my husband, on the ride home, after sharing my doggy bag dilemma.

"Yes, of course! Otherwise you'll be thrown in prison," my husband chuckled. "But Ricci and I would visit and even bring you oranges!"

Haha! It is helpful to laugh at our own quirks, and heartening when family and friends understand them so well. I hope, by sharing a few more of mine with you today you've learned some interesting French words. See you next week with another story from my short périple in Paris!


COMMENTS
Thanks in advance for taking the time to respond to my stories. Any edits are greatly appreciated. Click here to leave a message.

This sea bass and vegetables was in the second take-away carton, and it made a great lunch the day after I got home. Jean-Marc finished Susan's gnocchi for dinner. Don't you love leftovers and "doggy bags"?



FRENCH VOCABULARY 

Click to hear the pronunciation for la fringale and all the vocabulary

la fringale = hunger, the munchies
tchatcher = to chat, to gab
Quel soulagement d'être monté dans le train ! = What a relief to have made it onto the train!
le plat principal = main course
le gôuter = snack
tour à tour = by turns
le cran (avoir du cran)  = gumption (to have courage)
le périple = trek, journey

REMERCIEMENTS
Thanks in advance to readers sending in a blog donation for the first time, and to my returning patrons listed below. Your support keeps the wheels of this digital journal turning, and I am truly grateful!

Jane M.
Alice F.
Lucie A.
Anne U.
Trish A.
Janine C.

J'éspère te lire longtemps. Bises, Janine

Thanks for many years of entertainment and French vocabulary, Kristi. Bon travail! Alice F.

I have enjoyed your newsletter and books for many years, you are quite an inspiration for life.
We visit La France each year, to see family, enjoy the small villages and of course Paris.
Hope to visit your delightful corner in the near future. Lucie

The busy Gare de Lyon in Paris. Notice the white covering: behind it the historical and iconic restaurant Le Train Bleu is being renovated. 


I walked past this war memorial the day I left Paris. It reads "Aux Volontaires Americains Morts Pour La France" To The American Volunteers Who Died For France. A poignant reminder. Saturday is Armistice Day or Veterans Day. 

From France to New Zealand: Jean-Marc's Big News!

From the Mediterranean to Nouvelle Zéalande--Jean-Marc will be a traveling winemaker once again. After making wine in Italy (Sicily), The United States (Oregon), and around France, ce vigneron will now experience a longtime dream of blending grapes in New Zealand! We would like to thank Whitehaven Wines for this amazing opportunity! Read my husband's update, below, for more details.

 

TODAY'S WORD: LE VIGNERON (LA VIGNERONNE)

 

    : winemaker, winegrower

NEW ZEALAND HERE I COME
by Jean-Marc Espinasse

For a very long time, I have dreamt about visiting New Zealand. But family obligations, work, Covid, and the country's location (at almost 2 days' travel from France), have made this fantastic voyage quite impossible so far.

 

I have so much affinity for these two islands because they are...islands and I have always felt good being surrounded by oceans and seas. New Zealand is also a country with a strong identity, some amazing sports, like rugby or sailing, 1000 years of history, and it's a land with deep farming values, producing the famous lamb but also many other crops and, of course, wine.

 

In 2009, as I was touring the States to promote Domaine Rouge-Bleu, a very good friend of mine (Jeffrey) invited some friends over for a blind wine-tasting party. He gave me the keys to his unbelievable wine cellar with a carte blanche to pick out any bottle in order to organize a fun game. After looking around, I decided to do a horizontal blind tasting of Northern Rhone 2003. Chave, Guigal, Gangloff, Jaboulet... all the big names were here and it was an honor to be able to select them. Exploring a bit more, I saw a New Zealand section where I had heard that some Syrah (which is the grape used by Northern Rhone wines) was producing interesting results. When I saw a Syrah from Craggy Range "Le Sol" 2003, I decided to add it to the line-up, as an intruder. Guess who won the contest--and by far? This definitely contributed to my growing interest in this magical land.

 

In 2014, Kristi and I celebrated our 20th anniversary and our friends offered us a trip to New Zealand. This voyage never happened but I continued to be interested in this marvelous country and started to follow some vineyards on Instagram. Long story short, I have some very exciting news for you today… I am thrilled to announce that I have just been hired to work as an assistant winemaker in the cellars of Whitehaven Wines, Marlborough.

 

If you have any connections over there, I am searching for a room in a house or a studio—or why not a camper—to rent (in/near Blenheim), starting March 1st for 7/8 weeks. I would also appreciate any contacts you may have in New Zealand as I plan to tour both islands by bike and camping car, before and after my work contract.

 

Thank you in advance for your help. I can't wait to tell you all about my experiences on this magnificent island.

Cheers,

Jean-Marc
[email protected]

COMMENTS
To leave a comment, click here. It is a real pleasure to read your notes and stories. Merci!

Jean-Marc and our newest family member, Ricci, pose in front of a local Kayak stand here in La Ciotat. 

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks and appreciation to readers who sent in a blog donation this past week. Your support helps me continue developing this blog, which is more than a creative outlet: it is a place to learn, reflect, and exchange.   

Clare W.
Wynn C.
Laura S.
Linda H.
Lynne K.
Leona A.
Audrey R.
C-Marie P.
Nackey P.
Patricia N.
Georgia H.
Graham C.
Maureen D. 
Natalia, Rod, & The Mignons 

"Ricci is precious!! Thank you for the pictures!! God bless!!" C. P.

“If poets made more money, I'd support you more often--I love your column and feel great fondness for you and your family, and now your new dog, Ricci.” Lynne K.

Family portrait: Max, his grandmother Jules, Izzy, and Ricci.

Ciao from Ricci! See you next week (or, for the latest photo, follow me on Instagram)

Doggone it! A Travel and Dog Lovers Edition

Millow, an 8-year-old French bulldog, enjoying the salty air en route to Minorca, Spain

From Toulon to Minorca Jean-Marc and I sailed across the Mediterranean sea with dozens of wonderful dogs. Enjoy all the photos of these seasoned traveler-toutous in my column below. First, meet a cherished reader and dog lover...

OUR CHÈRE NATALIA
You may know Natalia from the cheering and affectionate comments she’s left here over the years. Natalia’s enthusiasm and support have touched me and other bloggers, including Lynn McBride of the delicious Southern Fried French journal. Lynn recently asked Natalia to share about her French connection. Read Natalia’s thoughtful reply here and see her two adorable chiens. 

TODAY’S WORD: LE CHIEN

: dog, hound, mutt

FRENCH EXPRESSION
avoir un mal de chien à faire = to have a heck of a time doing something
avoir un mal de chien = to be as sick as a dog
les chiens ne font pas des chats = the apple doesn't fall far from the tree 

Autumn Excursion in France: "Women in Burgundy" - An adventure designed especially for "Wander-ful Women!" September 20 to 30, 2023 - Includes seven nights in Burgundy and three nights in Paris. Click HERE for details.

REMERCIEMENTS
You may not be aware, but each time I write a new edition for this blog, a few to several donations come in. This truly is a reader-supported journal. For the week of May 1st, special thanks to readers Mel L. and Karen L. for your donations, and to reader Carolyn, who advertised her Women in Burgundy Tour. Many of you have asked to advertise in this newsletter and, until recently, I have declined ads. For now, if you have a France or French-related announcement and would like to sponsor this journal, please contact me at [email protected] Thank you!

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse
Things don’t always go as planned when traveling overseas, but some things soften the blow of such travel woes: dogs, for example… 

When we learned our overnight ferry from Toulon to Minorca would be delayed 8 hours (therefore losing us one full day on the island), my husband and I were sorely disappointed. If Jean-Marc’s frustration was summed up in one word—merde!—my reaction might've been an old-fashioned “doggone it!” (Only because it fits the theme of this story…and you’ll soon understand why…)

OUR DOGGONE DELAY
Not only would we be staying all those extra hours on the boat, but we were told to pack up and leave our cabine earlier than expected. So much for an afternoon sieste to break up the boring wait. While Jean-Marc argued with the manager at the onboard receptionist desk, I waited awkwardly by the luggage room. Another passenger sat with her fox terrier. We soon struck up a conversation about traveling with pets: “Corsica Ferries is one of the only ferries--if not the only--that allow dogs onboard, with access to all the public areas.” Madame explained. “The other navires require you to stow your dog in the boat’s underbelly, in a cage.

That’s how I learned that Corsica Ferries was known for its dog-friendly policy.

Suddenly, I began to notice all the dogs on board, and for the duration of our trip (and on the return voyage) I didn't see the hours go by... so busy was I checking out all the seaworthy chiens and talking to a lot of lovely passengers and pet owners…

Here are some of the traveling toutous I had the pleasure of meeting... 

Zoe, 9 year old. Bull terrier from Italy.

Lotte (lot-a), a 2-year-old “dual-line” Labrador from Germany

Merlan, 9-year-old tricolor Fox Terrier from France 

Anonymous: this beautiful Weimaraner was spotted in the lounge, sleeping beside its maître who himself forewent a cabin and opted to sleep rough. Ruff ruff! 

No grass to pee on in the dog park, which led to confusion for certain dogs. "There was a large crate with some rocks in it," one woman explained, but her dog (Sammy, pictured below) held it until they reached the shore.

Here is dear Sammy who really needed to tinkle as he waited patiently to "debark" at the port in Toulon. Sammy's mother was found pregnant and abandoned until this lady's mom found her. The mom kept the mother dog and the daughter took Sammy. Another sister took one of Sammy's siblings. What a happy ending!

Jack, 9-year-old wirehaired Griffon from Nimes. He was adopted after braving the SPA, or animal shelter, for 3 full years. He lost all his hair but it has grown back and he is absolutely dashing! 

What I thought would be a boring wait on our delayed ship turned into a chance to spend time with a number of soft, affectionate, and intelligent dogs. After losing my own last summer, dearest Smokey, this was the chance to make up for so many dogless months. It was also an opportunity to discover other breeds and crossbreeds and to begin to dream about our next fidèle companion (hint: I would like a smaller dog, for ease of travel and handling, but I'll take whatever chance or destiny brings my way).

If this particular ferry ride wasn't already a dog lover's dream, nothing could have prepared me for the surprise on our overnight trip home. As usual, hundreds of passengers boarded the ship along with their dogs. I now had a second chance to take more pictures and chat with the pet owners and this was bliss. But that night, everything culminated into one giant dog extravaganza!

It all happened so unexpectedly when Jean-Marc and I sat down for dinner in the ship's dining room. We were seated right next to the revolving kitchen door and after it slammed one too many times my husband asked if we could be moved. "I'm sorry, sir, but the only other table available is next to a dog."

A dog? "That's no problem!" I informed the waiter. We grabbed our drinks, got up, and walked to the other side of the dining room where, low and behold, there wasn't just one dog... This was the designated section for dog owners. 

In case I never have the privilege to dine among a pack of dogs ever again, Jean-Marc captured the ecstatic moment on film. I leave you with that clip (also viewable here). Tell me, how many chiens can you see? (Note: one or two are hiding beneath the ship's starched tablecloths). 

Amicalement,
Kristi
P.S. Thank you for sharing this post with a dog lover. More dog photos below...

IN THE COMMENTS
I would love it if you would share your experiences traveling with dogs. Do you have tips? Any unusual stories? Have you taken the bus or a boat or flown with your dog? Tell me about it here in the comments.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Don't miss the vocabulary sound file--click here

le chien = dog
le toutou = doggy 
merde! = sh#!, crap!
la cabine = room on a boat
la sieste = nap
le navire = ship, ferry, car ferry
la SPA = animal refuge, shelter

We sat beside 8-year-old Rocky, a labradoodle, and his family from Germany. They had taken their motorhome from there to Toulon, and cruised over to Minorca. Rocky loves to travel on land and at sea, and he's a real teddy bear isn't he?

I'm not sure what kind of dog this is on the sundeck (a Vizsla hunting dog, like another one I saw earlier?), but I was anxious to know how he would step off that net when he woke up...). I love how he or she is just chillin' with the owner. 

Me, enjoying some dog time with 2-year-old Anton, a Bearded Collie, and 8 -year-old Scooby, a Jack Russell.

A Common Mistake + favorite English word translated to French

The Kasbah. Agadir, formerly "Santa Cruz", is located on a seismic line. Agadir was rebuilt after the 1960 earthquake that killed 17000 people and destroyed 60 percent of this city. More about our visit to this former French colony, in today's post.

NEW: The audio section has moved and is now a dual-recording. Jean-Marc pronounces the French and you'll hear my Arizona accent for the English! To access the French/English sound-file, scroll to the vocabulary section. Reading via email? You will need to click over to the website for the full edition.

TODAY’S FRENCH WORD: se ressaisir 

    : to pull yourself together, to buck up

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

I love the slightly old-fashioned expression “to buck up” and its various definitions:

To buck up is to become encouraged, reinvigorated. To pluck up courage. To improve, smarten, to raise the morale of, to cheer up… In French, to buck up could be translated to se ressaisir.

After selling his wine shop, and following his last day as a business owner and gérant, Jean-Marc wanted to travel somewhere warm and sunny for some renewal and cheer. He finally settled on Agadir, Morocco--a 3-hr direct flight from nearby Marseilles.

By Sunday morning we were walking along an exotic beach when my husband turned to look at the giant, white-tipped vagues which draw so many surfers to the area.“I wonder if la mer is warmer here?” 

“The sea?” I grin, but it’s too late, he can’t take it back. And now it’s my turn to have a little fun with Jean-Marc:

“But this is not the sea! It's the ocean.”

How my spouse loves to correct tourists who visit our own station balnéaire, who innocently confuse the sea and the ocean as I often did. But here, on vacation in North Africa, it must be the relaxed state he is in that’s caused the confusion. “Oui, l’océan!” Jean-Marc smiles. "Je sais. Je sais."

“But do you know the difference between the ocean and the sea?” Quizzes Monsieur Smartypants, only to answer his own question: "Une mer est entourée de terre…a sea is surrounded by land.”

"I know, I know." But the truth is I'm just scraping by when it comes to geography. Witness this letter I received from a reader, following my previous post: Richard writes: “A lovely story, but if you were in Agadir, the sun was setting in the Atlantic, not the Mediterranean!”

Oups! The funny part is both Jean-Marc and I missed the error when proofreading the essay.

Here on Agadir plage, on the Atlantic, the beach is so wide and deep and smooth the locals play soccer on the endless sandy field. The sun is rising when a young man with a stick draws a large rectangle over le sable. The rectangles extend down the plage for a half kilometer as a dozen or more teams enjoy early morning practice.

There are a few other women walking on the beach at this early hour. Their heads and sometimes faces are covered with scarves. Up on the hotel terraces overlooking the shoreline, bikini-clad tourists (mostly French) will soon be sunning themselves. Just when I'm feeling super foreign, I notice the soccer players are all playing ball dans leurs chaussettes! As a mom, I can suddenly relate to their moms, who are not going to be happy on laundry day. As exotic as the women here look to me, we are all dealing with the “outdoor sock issue” back home.

Back in our hotel room overlooking the pool and the sea—l’océan—I am tugging at the one-piece bathing suit I’ve ordered online. Yay, it fits…even if it doesn’t fit in with the barely-clad Frenchies. I take that back. It looks like more French women are wearing one pieces....

I’ve settled in poolside when another woman arrives. She sets her beach bag down four chairs away from mine. When she removes her paréo, I see she’s wearing the same black one-piece as me. I reconsider walking past my sosie to get to the pool stairs, where I was headed for a swim. Oh buck up! I think instead. I’m tired of hiding from everything and everybody. Vive la liberté! Freedom calls!

Only, the water in the heated pool is not as warm as the “piscine chauffé” sign would lead one to believe. It is so cold that I regret I didn't follow my husband who just dove into the sea. I mean the ocean. Oh, you know what I mean! 

I leave you with my favorite English verb, to buck up. For the rest of this year, I will be practicing it--even if I never did buck up and dive into... l'Atlantique!
***

That's me being taken for a ride--in both senses. I could have ridden this sweet horse forever, this gentle cheval erased all my fears... for the brief moment we were together. (The unsolicited ride began "for free" and ended up costing a Moroccan day's salary. Thankfully, the berger and the tourist came to a settlement wherein each left with their dignity intact.

Remember the soccer players? Those are socks--and not shoes--on their feet. Ouch! They also kick the ball barefoot! 

Part of the panoramic view from the Kasbah.

BOOKS: The Conquest of Morocco
"...in the mad scramble for African colonies, Morocco had one great attraction for the Europeans: it was available. In 1903, France undertook to conquer the exotic and backward country. By the time World War I broke out the conquest was virtually complete." --from "The Conquest of Morocco"

FRENCH VOCABULARY
se ressaisir = to buck up
le/la gérant(e) = manager
la vague = wave
la station balnéaire = coastal resort, seaside resort
l’océan (m) = ocean
je sais = I know
une mer est entourée de terre = a sea is surrounded by land
oups = whoops
le sable = sand
la plage = beach
dans leurs chaussettes = in their socks
le paréo = beach cover up
le sosie = twin
vive la liberté = long live freedom
la piscine chauffée = heated pool
l’atlantique = the Atlantic

AUDIO FILE & SOME HISTORY
Following the vocabulary list, there is a pause in the recording. Then you will hear the sentence below. (I get a little tongue-tied toward the end!) Do you enjoy these husband/wife recordings? Let us know.

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc and me pronounce the French and English

La langue française fait partie de la vie quotidienne des Marocains. C’est un héritage d’une période de colonisation durant laquelle elle avait même été proclamée langue officielle des institutions coloniales. Aujourd’hui encore, plus d’un demi-siècle après l’indépendance du pays, la langue française reste très répandue au Maroc, notamment dans les secteurs des entreprises privées et de l’éducation. (credit: LeMatin.ma)

The French language is part of the daily life of Moroccans. It is a legacy of a period of colonization during which it was even proclaimed the official language of colonial institutions. Even today, more than half a century after the country's independence, the French language remains widespread in Morocco, particularly in the private business and education sectors.

The handwriting from 1913 reads "north-east side is camp of the riflemen. What else can you say about this postcard? Share your history knowledge in the comments section and add to this post. Merci!




SWEET OF THE WEEK, NO 8: North African pastries, made by our Algerian friends (thanks Sidi and Sidi's mom who made them). Here's a Makroud, a baklava (my favorite!) and a corne de gazelle. So delicious and satisfying with or without mint tea. Ants love them too so don't hide them in your nightstand.

January sunrise. From shore to shore. From surfers to paddle-boarders. After the ocean in Agadir, here is the sea in La Ciotat, near Cassis. Please check out the book list in the side column (or end) of this blog. New books have been added.

Bonjour from North Africa + A Gift from Strangers!

Twilight in Agadir, Morocco, in Northwest Africa. Jean-Marc snaps a photo of le coucher du soleil.

Do you want to continue receiving these emails? Each week my overzealous, automated listserver sweeps several subscribers into the "inactive" bin, eventually deleting them! Here are two ways to ensure you receive this journal in your inbox from here on out:

1. Regularly click on the links in my newsletter. This action identifies you as an "active" reader of French Word-A-Day. For example, you might click on the "Read The Whole Entry" link, which opens the full edition of this post
2. Add my email and my listserver's email to your allowed senders: [email protected] and [email protected]

TODAY’S WORD: le crépuscule

    : twilight, dusk, gloaming, nightfall

EXAMPLE SENTENCE & AUDIO FILE
Listen to all the French in today's story via the sound file below. Then scroll to the vocabulary section to check your language comprehension.

Le crépuscule c’est la lumière incertaine qui succède immédiatement au couché du soleil. The twilight is the blurred light that immediately follows the sunset.

French-English Audio file here

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE…by Kristi Espinasse

“Just 5 more minutes,” my husband says, as we gaze at the glowing red Moroccan sky. Jean-Marc’s bare feet are planted in the wet sand on the smooth shore of Agadir. We’ve been standing a long time before le coucher du soleil, until all that remains are ink black lines drowning out the fiery blaze beyond. The horizon resembles molten lava.

Jean-Marc is transfixed by the final curtain on this radiant show called “Nightfall.” Only 5 days ago the curtains were drawn on an episode in his own life. After a chapter called “Rouge-Bleu” and another called “Mas des Brun” (2 vignobles), Jean-Marc has reached the end of the current chapter “La Cave”. He has sold his wine shop and for once in his life he doesn’t have a plan. Looking straight ahead can be blinding.

“Don’t stare at the sun,” Jean-Marc cautioned, taking my hand as the soleil made its descent into the Atlantic. Looking away I catch another glorious scene: all the colors of the sunset are reflecting on the wet sand. C’est merveilleux!

As the sun goes down I close my eyes and carefully make a wish. My vœu is to grow closer and closer to my husband, like the colors melding together on the horizon. 

When next I open my eyes, something magical happens…

THE NEWLYWEDS (Les Jeunes Mariés) 

A few strangers approached us from behind, waving a smartphone. “We were adjusting the settings on our new camera when we got this picture of you two….” The young couple pointed enthusiastically at the phone’s screen.

Jean-Marc and I were caught off guard but were soon reassured by two smiling faces. “We just got married,” the strangers offered and the joyous sparkle in their eyes was contagious.

“Vous êtes en lune de miel? You are on your honeymoon?” Jean-Marc asked, and so began a little conversation in the sunset's afterglow.

Before we said goodbye to les jeunes mariés, I typed my email address into the woman’s phone, thanking her for her offer to send copies of the photos. “It will be a nice souvenir of our trip. Merci beaucoup!” I say, gazing at the image of a peaceful couple—us—holding hands before the sunset. In an instant, our 28-year married life flashes before me. Next, I think about the newlyweds innocently beginning their own nuptial journey. Whoah! Like molten lava it will be beautiful, it will sizzle, and it will sometimes burn.

One thing that will help any marriage, new or decades-old, is the support from friends and family--even the benediction of strangers, and in this case it was reciprocal: in their photo, the young couple captured an ideal image of our union and in return we left them with a blessing.

“Tous nos vœux de bonheur pour un long et heureux mariage! All our wishes of happiness for a long and happy marriage."

Back in our hotel room, I found an email from The Newlyweds, containing the peaceful photo—our best version of our married selves. Sweet and united. “Closer and closer.” Remembering the sparkle in the young couple's eyes I turned to my husband and smiled: In this next chapter we could be newlyweds….

It was just an idea—an inspiration. Because at this point we don’t have a plan for this next chapter. It’s kind of like The Twilight Zone…. Only I don’t want a husband zombie roaming around the house all day. That’s been my turf for the past 5 years while JM was away at the shop all day. I wonder…is anyone out there hiring? I’ve got a stellar candidate who is thoroughly knowledgeable in French wine and who appreciates a good sunset anywhere in the world.  

***

24/7 or full-time housemates in this new chapter. (Only now, at the close of my story, do I understand the irony in my “closer and closer to hubby” wish :-)  Currently, I have put Jean-Marc to work making lunch as I finish typing up this post. Earlier, he washed the windows, changed a burnt-out lightbulb, and swept the front patio. I'm going to keep him busy! (Photo credit: Majdouline B.)
 
IN BOOKS: Your Name Is Renée: Ruth Kapp Hartz's Story as a Hidden Child in Nazi-Occupied France

While in Morocco I had the chance to read Ruth Kapp Hartz's story "Your Name is Renee". I have read many Holocaust accounts and this one is especially touching as it is the survival story of a friend and reader of this journal--and it takes place in France. Thank you, Ruth, and Stacy Cretzmeyer (who told Ruth's story) for this unforgettable read. Interestingly there were several mentions of Morocco as Ruth's father initially avoided deportation by joining the French Foreign Legion in Morocco. Please check out Ruth's book.)


Ruth (center) and Monique visited us at our vineyard in 2009. 

Barry, Ruth, and Monique tasting Jean-Marc's wine at our first vineyard.


Ruth also sent this snapshot from our kitchen at the vineyard. It's a sweet souvenir. Merci, Ruth. I hope others will read your highly recommended book.

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

le crépuscule = twilight, dusk

le coucher du soleil = sunset

le vignoble = vineyard

le soleil = sun

la cave = wine shop

la lune de miel  = honeymoon 

C’est merveilleux! = it’s magnificent

le vœu= wish

les jeunes mariés = young married couple

Tous nos vœux de bonheur pour un long et heureux mariage! All our wishes of happiness for a long and happy marriage.

Sweet of the Week, No 7: "Les Pâtisseries Marocaines." On our third night in Agadir, we ordered room service. We shared a vegetarian pizza and, for dessert, these chewy honey and nut cookies. I hid several in the nightstand and was punished for hoarding them when a bunch of ants invaded my side of the bed!